fake hair = romance March 31, 2008

As with (I imagine) most brides, what to do with my hair for my wedding was a huge issue. We (my mom and sometimes even my dad) started figuring it out around the same time we started shopping for a dress, which was immediately.

My hair has never been one to hold curl. The only updos I’ve liked on myself have been performed by my childhood hairstylist. We’re talking major hairspray and bobby pins. I didn’t want to be in the chair all day when I got married, or have to worry about my hairdo falling out before I even walked down the aisle. I’m also a short-hair kind of girl, and growing it out past my chin is a major, fugly CHORE.

So of course we enlisted an expert. My mom started getting her hair done by Starlyn when she moved to North Carolina in 1979. She did my hair until I went to college (and sometimes after that, too).

There was the first haircut ever:

The first perm:

and senior prom (photos courtesy of my engagement scrapbook):

There was one way to guarantee I was going to look good, and to look how I wanted on my wedding day. And that was if Starlyn did my hair.

Train and I got married in northern Virginia. Starlyn lived near my hometown near Raleigh, NC. My mom took a chance and asked her if she would come and do my hair. Starlyn was so touched, she said yes. (Bonus! She could do my mom’s hair too!)

A plan was formed. I didn’t have a set hairstyle in mind, but I knew I wanted it up. My hair was pretty short:

wedding dress shopping, June 2002

and I knew (grumble, grumble) that I would have to grow it out, and I better start now. Luckily, Starlyn knew how I felt about it (and was also realistic about the fact that my hair would only grow so much in a year), and suggested we try out some hairpieces.

So my dad cut off a few sample strands for color matching from hopefully inconspicuous places:

We put them in separate bunches:

And took them to Starlyn:

(Step 4 - eight months later when she is getting ready for your bridal portrait, give your stylist a heart attack when she discovers missing chunks of hair)

Starlyn sent my hair off for some hairpiece samples that would match the color. She wasn’t very thrilled with what she got back from the company. She suggested we hit the mall and go to the HairUWear kiosk and see what we could find.

Not only did I find a fancy looking styled hair clip to attach to a ponytail, I also found a fake-hair scrunchy to use on my ever-lengthening but still scraggly-looking ponytail for everyday. It was awesome, and Starlyn was thrilled.

Now I just had to sit back and let my hair grow:

February

at a gown fitting

March

with bridesmaid LittleSister and maid of honor Dr. P before I made them spend a Saturday night tying ribbons on favors

Starlyn loved the piece we had picked and gave me highlights so that my hair color would match the piece even more. That’s the only time I’ve ever colored my hair, and she used a cap (where they use a hook to dig strands of hair out through tiny holes in the cap) instead of foil, and holy crap that was torture.

At some point I decided to grow out my bangs. I finished college in December of 2002 and started working full-time in February of 2003. I think that had something to do with it, I must have thought I looked young or unprofessional with bangs, which I had had since…well, since birth, it seems like. Anyway, that just added a whole level of insanity to this process.

In April it was time for my bridal portrait session. My dad and I went to Starlyn’s shop to get my hair done that morning.

Then it was more waiting, and growing:

at my first bridal shower, May 2003

at my fourth bridal shower, June 2003

the week before the wedding, getting our marriage license

By now Project Anti-Bangs was almost complete.

And finally, it was time to get married.

Starlyn taking a break from the pool to adjust my headpiece

I loved my fake hair and I am so glad Starlyn was able to do it.

And almost as importantly, it was time to get home from the honeymoon and get my hair cut. I begged Starlyn or Dr. P’s sister Jackie to cut my hair that night after the reception, but neither one would agree. Which is why my drivers’ license photo looks like this, because I got it the day after returning from our cruise to reflect my new name:

The Saga of the Princess February 7, 2008

Do you remember my friend Princess? The one that went to the Democratic National Committee Winter Meeting with me last year. The one who is a die-hard Republican. The one with framed 8 x 10s of George W. Bush (2 of them!) and Ronald Reagan on her desk at work. The one who couldn’t decide if she should vote for Mitt Romney (because he’s cute, and so presidential) or Rudy Giuliani (because he is an ass kicker/name taker) (before they both dropped out of the race).

Princess has been having serious hair issues lately. In her native West Virginia, she could get an excellent cut for $8.00, and she took advantage of that deal every time she went home to visit her parents, which wasn’t often enough.

Her hair is naturally very thin, and it was really long. She uses hot rollers every day but also wore her hair up every day because it was driving her crazy.

Princess is a child of the 80s. She likes BIG hair and lots of volume and curls. And hot rollers. Queen (my carpool mate, and Princess’s best friend) convinced Princess to visit the Queen’s hairstylist. I was excited because Princess was going to get her hair cut short. I had seen pictures of her hair short from when she first started working here (like…when I was still in elementary school) (JUST KIDDING!!!!) and it looked so cute.

So Princess visited the Queen’s stylist, and got her hair cut short, but she wasn’t really happy with the cut. As I said, Princess wasn’t really into the new trends in hairstyles, she liked the classic full shape (definitely no Posh hairdo for her). Her portfolio of hairstyles that she loved was full of magazine pictures from the late 90s, but we all agreed they were styles that would look terrific on Princess. This stylist had given her more of a modern style and she didn’t like it. She visited the stylist one more time and came away even more dissatisfied. She felt like she looked like Joan Jett (long wispy layers close to her neck).

This stylist worked in a small salon with one other stylist. The other stylist was a man. He just happened to be gay. In Princess’s heart of hearts, she had always wanted a man, particularly a gay man, to do her hair. It was always her secret desire and she felt it was the answer to all of her hair problems. She imagined that they could be best friends and he could go shopping with her and they would have fabulous lunches and conversations. However, she didn’t want to go back to the salon and hurt her original (female) stylist’s feelings.

Frustrated, far away from her trusty $8 hairdresser in BFE, West Virginia, and desperate for hair she could work with, Princess took a chance one day after a tanning session and ducked into the salon next door. Her heart leapt when she saw the name on the list of stylists: “Bo.” Could it be the answer to her prayers? She explained her dilemma to the female receptionist, and asked if perhaps she could get an appointment with Bo.

“Well, I’m Bo,” the receptionist said, and Princess was crushed. “I don’t have any openings tonight but I can get you in tomorrow.” Princess agreed and went back the next day for what she hoped was a transformation.

Bo was horrified by what she saw. “You have a hole in the back of your hair!!” Bo told Princess it would take at least a couple of months to fix the damage inflicted by the first stylist. Princess was ready to be patient if Bo was going to give her what she wanted. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” Princess asked Bo. “Oh, no, I love it here!”

So a few months went by, and Princess felt okay about her hair. She still wasn’t thrilled with it but she wasn’t wearing it up every day either. She patiently waited for her hair to grow out so Bo could give her the style she dreamed of.

Of course, when she called a few weeks ago to make an appointment with Bo, Bo was no longer at the salon and there was no way to find her. So Princess was back at square one.

Once again in desperation, she turned to the internet. “Where can I get a great haircut in Washington DC?” she asked Google. And Google answered: “Edward Scissorhands” (not his real name, of course, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what his real name was). Review after review of women gushing about the wonderfulness that was Edward.

Could it be? Had the hair gods led Princess to the holy grail of homosexual hair design? And right here in our nation’s capital? She called the salon and got an appointment for that weekend.

Her appointment was at 5:30 on Sunday afternoon. Edward, Princess, and Edward’s assistant were the only ones in the salon. Turns out Edward was moving salons and today was his LAST DAY THERE! She almost lost him forever! Edward, also, was horrified by the hole that was still in the back of her hair. He told her they needed serious damage control. He told her that her “silver” was nowhere near bad enough to require professional coloring (at which he is an expert, of course) if she wasn’t ready to start the lifelong habit.

And Princess was in love. She laughed through the entire appointment and had a wonderful time with Edward and his assistant (who gave her a terrific head massage). She finally felt at home in the stylist’s chair after months of trials and tribulations.

This morning she called me to say that Edward had emailed her to see how she was liking her hair. They were emailing back and forth and having a great time. She has found her soul mate. And now the Queen is going to visit him!